


Opposing Sides

by SlytherinCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Battle of Hogwarts, Darkness Reigns, Explicit Language, F/M, Snark, Soulmates, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2020-12-07 20:46:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20982116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinCat/pseuds/SlytherinCat
Summary: “You’re joking.” Her mouth dropped. “This has to be a joke. Fuckingsoulmates?!” She leaned forward disbelief coating her voice.“Yes, Miss Granger. Fucking soulmates.” He stated calmly, the corner of his mouth lifting up into a smirk.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DarknessReigns](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DarknessReigns) collection. 

> This was written for the Darkness Reigns Fest in the Death Eater Groupies FB group.  
The world needs more Death Eaters...in fanfiction 😬
> 
> A **huge** Thank you goes to Lunamionny for being an awesome Beta.
> 
> Below is the prompt that inspired this. 🙂
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> During the final battle Rodolphus refuses to allow anything to happen to Hermione. He’s fought too long and hard to see her die, even though she might not yet realize it. He’s her savior.

* * *

_May 2nd, 1998_

She couldn’t see. There was smoke everywhere. Thick and heavy. Obscuring her view. She could barely make out shadows. Or was it her own lashes? She was squinting so hard she couldn’t tell the difference anymore. She tried to open her eyes wider but tears immediately sprang to them, irritating them further.

If she wasn’t sitting on solid ground and leaning against a wall, she would have sworn the castle had crumbled already.

But Hogwarts was holding out. Enforcing her defences and rooting herself into the ground. She would still be standing after this. Hermione had to believe that her castle would still be there. That they would still be there because anything else would mean giving up hope and that was simply not possible.

She could use an air-cleaning charm but she was afraid of what she would see.

The sounds were terrifying all on their own. Screaming. Crying. Crashing. Rumbling.

She didn’t want to see why the running footsteps sounded wet.

She didn’t want to see what the soft thing next to her actually was.

But not being able to see intensified all the sounds.

Her senses were in overdrive. And the smell. _Oh God, the smell_.

Never in her life had she smelled anything like this. She hadn’t even read about it.

Burnt flesh, burnt rubble, burnt cloth, burnt everything.

Blood. How much blood must there be for her to be able to smell it?

Foul stenches all around. Rotting flesh and sweat.

She could almost smell the tears.

Her own had stopped. She wasn’t sure how much time had actually passed since giant spiders had separated her from Harry and Ron.

She wasn’t even entirely certain where she was right now. She’d just started running, thinking that the boys were directly behind her.

She’d been wrong.

Her gut told her they were alright. She would know if something had happened to them.

She’d been sitting in this corner for a few seconds. Or minutes? She wasn’t sure. Her muscle memory and instincts were telling her that she was close to the entrance hall.

The fighting sounded louder and yet further away at the same time. She heard spells being yelled. The thud of bodies hitting the floor. More screaming. Stones exploding. Wet coughing. Flesh tearing.

Was this even real anymore? Was her brain imagining these sounds or were people actually this ruthless and brutal?

After all this time, had the war not taught her anything about their enemies?

She shuddered. A flimsy tremble. Her body wouldn’t allow more. Because more reaction meant breaking down. Becoming aware of what all of this actually meant.

She gripped her wand tighter and squeezed her eyes shut completely.

“You can do this, Hermione. Get up. Get up and keep fighting.”

She gritted her teeth and drew strength from her murmured mantra.

She was still alive. The fight wasn’t over so there was no time to rest or think. Her eyes snapped open again, fully this time. No squinting anymore.

She rose up, determined, and swished her wand to clear the smoke around her.

She’d been right. She was close to the entrance hall. So close, in fact, she could see the fighting in the courtyard. Because the giant oak doors were missing. Blasted completely off. She was staring through a huge hole.

There were cloaked figures. Death Eaters. Some with their masks still on.

There were spiders and giants and dementors.

There were teachers, students, Order members, people from the village, parents.

They were all fighting for their lives and the lives of their loved ones.

There were bodies lying everywhere.

She was scared to look closer. She was scared not to look.

“No!”Hermione uttered, aware her voice didn’t sound like her own.

She recognized their faces. She shouldn’t have looked.

Students. People she went to school with. Shared meals and notes with. Laughed and joked with.

Dead.

Something inside her had already cracked after witnessing a desperate Fred try to pull Percy out from under a collapsed wall.

Then she saw Remus, that something broke irrevocably.

Remus Lupin’s body was lying just beside the entrance. Pale, silent and unmoving.

He was a teacher. He had taught them. Taught her. He had helped them master jinxes and hexes. Told them about creatures and beasts. He was caring and had listened, and somehow always knew what to do.

He was the only one left with a link to Harry’s parents. He had a son and a wife.

He was a werewolf. Werewolves were strong. They didn’t stop moving. She had seen it herself. Why wasn’t he moving?

She took a step towards him but felt a scalding stream of energy shoot by her head he whipped her head to the right to find the source.

“Hello, beautiful.”

Dolohov.

She narrowed her eyes hatefully. She raised her wand higher, pointing it directly at where his heart was supposed to be.

“Are you admiring my handiwork? Wasn’t even difficult, to be honest. He didn’t put up much of a fight. Wasn’t even fun.”

He had killed Remus. That sadistic, ruthless piece of scum had ruined countless lives and now he had killed her teacher, her friend.

She screamed a stunner at him but he had ample time to deflect it. She was unbalanced and he knew it.

He cocked his head to the side with a nasty smile. “You know, I owe you a round of excruciating pain. Your little stunt in that café cost me.”

“What? Can’t hold your Crucios? Poor excuse for a Death Eater if you ask me.” Hermione spat out with a bitter smile on her face.

Dolohov’s eyes flashed but his wand remained steady, pointing at her.

“Are you actually this stupid? Taunting me? I could kill you in an instant.” He hissed, spit flying from his mouth. “Although, it won’t be quick. I’ll make you suffer, you little cunt!”

“You’re a pathetic excuse for a wizard, Dolohov. You couldn’t kill me when I was sixteen. What makes you think you have more of a chance now that I’m older and even more powerful?”

She wasn’t sure where her bravado came from but she knew deep down that he wouldn’t win this. Fueled by her own words, she took a confident step forward and noticed how Dolohov’s wand arm wavered. He had no doubt expected her to cower before him and beg for mercy, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He didn’t scare her anymore.

His face was screwed up in rage and she knew exactly what was coming next because he moved his wand in an ominously familiar way.

Expecting his signature curse, she feigned a step forward before spinning to her right, avoiding the purple death sentence, and casting a curse she never thought she would. 

Dolohov, who had clearly not expected her to move to the side and fire at him from a different angle, was caught off guard and, in a surprisingly Muggle gesture, raised his left arm to block her curse.

The power she had put into her _Sectumsempra_ cut straight through his arm, severing his hand at the wrist before cutting deeply into the flesh of Dolohov’s torso.

His eyes widened in surprise. She met his gaze.

Hermione felt like everything was happening in a choppy time-lapse. A mix of slow-motion and fast-forward. Staccato images flashed in front of her eyes: Dolohov’s wand dropping to the floor. Bleeding red gashes all over him. The movement of his remaining hand to his throat. His body lying on the floor in a pool of red.

Had he made a sound?

She had killed someone. Without hesitation. Without mercy.

She felt no regret.

Her senses had been in overdrive just moments before. Now they seemed dull and tired.

The battle around her hadn’t slowed down, although it felt like it should have.

She averted her gaze from the still and butchered form of Antonin Dolohov.

She was no better than them.

She turned around towards the courtyard.

She had to get to the Shrieking Shack to find Harry and Ron.

* * *

He had to find her. He had fought too long and hard to see her die, even though she may not yet realize it. He was her saviour and she was his.

The moment he had arrived at the castle, he had split from the group he was assigned to. His only goal was to find her and make sure she would survive.

They had arrived late, giving the snatchers and lower-level followers time to start the battle and tire the Light out.

It was chaos. Bodies were lying everywhere. Parts of them blasted off. Dark patches of blood had seeped into the grass. There was rubble scattered all around. Smoke drifting everywhere. The ground was in pieces, with holes and dirt all over.

The destruction they had already caused was mesmerizing, in a disturbing way. He didn’t fool himself into thinking his brethren weren’t the main cause for it.

He couldn’t fathom why they were so ruthless to the people and to the castle. But who was he trying to delude? He had spent the past twenty years with these people. He knew what they were capable of and he knew how little remorse they felt.

More than half of the Dark Lord’s followers had called Hogwarts home at one point in their lives. Because that’s what she’d always been. He wasn’t an exception.

He had spent months here, away from his strict father, studying magic, learning what it meant to be a wizard, playing with his little brother and his friends. When had that stopped being enough? When had he decided that he needed to follow a pretty boy with a charismatic tongue and big ideas? When had he demeaned himself to be a henchman of a mad old snake?

He couldn’t remember anymore, maybe he didn’t want to.

The Dark Lord’s side had taken a lot of hits, as far as he could tell. He had seen many of the faces on the bodies littering the grounds before, during gatherings. He was surprised by the staggering number of the dead.

How were there so many people? How were so many people dead?

How were there still so many left fighting?

He had to maintain a shield to be safe from stray curses.

He was wearing his mask, which meant he also had to duck and leap out of the way more than once to avoid an intentional curse. He tried to engage as little as possible, limiting himself to defensive spells.

He had to find her.

His plan was delayed by a giant fighting against three suits of armour right in front of him. He had to duck behind a dead Acromantula to avoid being crushed.

It was difficult to weave his way through the fights. The chaos didn’t help his sense of direction, but he finally managed to reach the front of the courtyard.

He could make out the entrance to the castle - it was obvious because it was gaping, huge hole without doors.

There was no way he could make it into the castle without fighting.

Everything was in close quarters here. He could see shields and rubble everywhere. Destroyed stones and pillars, along with the aftermath of explosions, were the cause of the heavy smoke hanging over the battlefield.

Just then a boy, no older than fourteen or fifteen, sent a spell at him which he blocked easily.

Why had someone so young stayed and fought? They had no chance. Then again, he and his brethren had been thwarted more than once by so-called children. By _her_.

His eyes quickly focused and he flicked his wand so fast the child didn’t have a chance to react at all.

His aim was true and he blasted Avery, who had been moving towards the boy from behind before he could fire a curse at the boy. Avery was thrown through the air, his body crashing against a stone pillar.

“Get to safety.” He told the child, whose eyes were wide when they snapped back to his. “Stay alive, boy.”

He started to make his way through the fighters. It was difficult to advance because he had to take out more than one of the Dark Lord’s followers, and he was determined to make sure he did so.

He didn’t care. His fellow Death Eaters didn’t matter. He knew this was the last stand. Everyone could feel it. Maybe that was the reason for the brutal viciousness.

All he could think about was getting to her.

He recognized most of the people on the side of the Light that he managed to catch glimpses of. They stared at him in bewilderment, no doubt perplexed about why he was helping them. Former teachers, former friends and even people from Hogsmeade he hadn’t seen in decades.

Had he chosen a different path a long time ago, he would be fighting alongside them right now.

Or maybe he would already be dead.

Before they could decide to take him out despite the fact he had helped them, he moved on swiftly. Inching his way closer and closer towards the entrance hall.

He knew he had to make it inside. He knew she was somewhere in the castle. He could feel it.

When he finally stepped inside, the sight that greeted him froze him in place.

It was her and she was facing -

“Dolohov,” he whispered horrified.

She was stepping forward into a stream of purple light that would surely be the end of her.

His heart seemed to stop.

His voice was lodged in his throat. It couldn’t end like this. He couldn’t be too late.

He heard the curse impact the pillar she had been standing in front of only a fraction of a second earlier.

He moved forward to see better. Then the gurgling reached his ears and his brain finally finished processing what he saw.

She had avoided his curse and hit Dolohov with what looked like Snape’s slicing curse. A fucking powerful one judging by the hand lying next to the Russian and the countless gashes appearing all over his body. Even Snape himself hadn’t managed such a force. 

He slowly raised his eyes from the crumbling form of his former brother and finally looked at her fully.

She was filthy. Her hair, once vibrant and untamable, now hung limp around her face, which was streaked with dirt and sweat. Her face was paler than even the Dark Lord’s had been recently. Her clothes had holes in them and he couldn’t make out the original colours. She was covered with spots of blood. It looked like someone had taken a paintbrush and just sprayed her with red.

He could only hope that none of it was her own.

Despite all the dirt and grime, she looked beautiful. And Powerful.

Intimidating.

She hadn’t moved yet. She was still staring at Dolohov, who was a heap on the floor.

He was scared she’d be hit by a curse, stray or otherwise. Hell, he would be hit by one if he kept standing right in the middle of the entrance hall.

He had moved slightly to the side so he didn’t have the courtyard in his back anymore when she turned towards him and froze, her wand pointed straight at him.

“Fuck.” He hissed.

He was still wearing his Death Eater mask although he wasn’t sure removing it would improve the situation. His wand arm was hanging limply by his side, his wand pointed down.

He hadn’t thought this far. He had been driven by the need to find her. Actually standing in front of her and having to interact hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Well, here goes nothing.” He murmured warily.

He slowly raised his left hand to signal her he didn’t mean any harm.

“Miss Granger- “

* * *

She’d been stupid, careless. She had lingered too long over the image that Dolohov’s corpse had made. She hadn’t paid attention to her surroundings and now she had to face another bloody Death Eater. 

He was tall, taller than Dolohov, but with a build just as broad. At least, that’s what she could tell, considering his heavy cloak. His mask had intricate patterns and she was slightly confused as to why she was noticing ridiculous, trivial things like mask details at a time like this t. She had no idea who it could be but that didn’t actually matter. They were all the same. They were the enemy. They wanted to kill them, to kill her.

She would not let that happen.

Her muscles were coiled tightly, ready to act, ready to attack, defend, move. A spell was on the tip of her tongue, just waiting to be released.

She saw him start to raise his left arm - his empty hand - his wand remained pointed down on his right side.

She heard her name. At least he was polite. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what he would want to say.

Before he could raise his wand arm too, she fired a _Confringo_ toward him. She would not take chances with this.

She had to move on and find Harry and Ron. She didn’t care that her curse could kill the Death Eater. She had killed one already, just a moment ago. He would do much worse to her if she let him.

Her aim was true. The curse hurtled toward him with deadly precision.

She saw it make contact with his body…and pass right through his torso without harming him in the slightest.

Then it hit the stone wall behind him, before rebounding at an angle and destroying the wall to her right.Rubble flew everywhere. They both ducked.

She heard distinct clunking sounds above her but didn’t pay them any attention.

She stared at the masked Death Eater from her crouched position. He was in a similar position, with his wand pointed at her. She felt cold dread creep down her spine.

How had she missed him? That spell was perfect, aimed right at him. It should have hit him!

Now she would die because of what? Poor aim? Bad luck? Fate? Why hadn’t it hit him?

Curses didn’t just pass through people!

Dust filled the space in front of her, blurring his form slightly.

There were more clunking sounds from above her and she risked a look up.

There was debris hovering in the air, right over her, as if held up by an invisible barrier.

“How the…?” She asked without realizing she was speaking out loud

She looked back to him, right in time to see a piece of wall crash down right next to him. He didn’t even flinch, his wand arm not waving.

Was he really so determined to end her, despite the fact he was perilously close to being crushed? 

But…_was_ he trying to kill her? She glanced up again to the shield protecting her.

She hadn’t cast it.

* * *

His witch was fucking powerful.

He was glad the spell hadn’t hit him. It would have obliterated him. Just like it did the walls.

He had been hit by more than one piece of stone and he could already feel the pain radiating from his back and shoulder.

He was lucky he’d reacted fast enough to shield her from the debris.

He saw it in her eyes. The moment she knew he had conjured it. She didn’t understand it.

He wanted to explain everything to her. Now that he’d found her, he wanted her as far away from this battle as possible.

But she didn’t trust him yet.

When he was sure no more rubble was falling down, he flicked his wand and flung the pieces above her head away.

They both straightened simultaneously. She had her wand raised at him again, although he noticed her hesitance.

So he tried again.

“Miss Granger, I mean you no harm.”

She didn’t react, except for her hand - it tightened around her wand.

Well, that wasn’t a good sign.

“I am going to remove my mask, now. So you can see my face.”

He waited for another spell to leave her wand, but it didn’t. So, he slowly raised his left hand again, palm forward so she would see he wouldn’t attack her. He ignored the pain the movement caused him and finally pulled his mask off.

He didn’t know what he expected as a reaction, but ‘nothing’ hadn’t exactly been it.

She didn’t move at all. Didn’t blink; it almost seemed like she wasn’t breathing.

He would’ve been happy with a flinch…probably.

“Rodolphus Lestrange…Bellatrix’s husband.” She finally said with a slight tremble at his wife’s name.

He knew why.

“Miss Granger, had I been there I would not have let her do that to you.” He said on an impulse.

To his surprise, she laughed.

“Right.” She snorted. “You would’ve come to my rescue and swept me away to a safe place? Are you taking the piss? You probably would’ve helped her! You’re all the same!” She screamed.

He shook his head.

“I know you have no reason to believe me, but I assure you, you would have been safe with me. You will always be safe with me.”

He didn’t know how he would’ve done it, but he knew he would not have left her at the mercy of his deranged wife.

“You’re delusional! What are you talking about? Is this some secret fantasy of yours?”

Well, she wasn’t wrong per se.

“We share a connection, Miss Granger. You and I. You will sense it soon enough.”

There was no doubt in his voice because he knew it was true.

“You’re crazy! You’re completely insane. What the fu-“

But her sentence was cut off by a roar and a deafening crash. One of the giants had swung his weapon into the wall and they both had to avoid being crushed again. In the chaos, he was separated from her

He looked around frantically searching for her. Hoping that she hadn’t been hurt.

When he could see again, she was gone. He took a deep breath.

He could still feel the pull between them, which meant she wasn’t dead. Relief flooded him and he thought about what to do next.

She had probably run out into the courtyard. But when he tried to find her in the chaos outside, he couldn’t. His chances of finding her again without getting killed were slim.

He wanted to find her again. He hadn’t chosen his words right. She thought he was mad. He probably was a little.

Seeing her again just now, even covered in grime and in the middle of a battle on opposite sides, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Hermione Granger was his soulmate.

And something told him that she would be fine.

With that thought in mind, he turned towards the fighting outside and spotted his wife locked in battle with her niece.

He would not give her the chance to orphan another little boy. Never again.

With a grim stance, he stepped between his wife and Nymphadora Tonks.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the Darkness Reigns Fest in the Death Eater Groupies FB group.  
The world needs more Death Eaters...in fanfiction 😬
> 
> A **huge** Thank you goes to Lunamionny for being an awesome Beta.

* * *

From the moment the magic of the wedding ceremony had taken hold, he’d known she wasn’t right. 

His mother had told him throughout his childhood how special it was to find that ‘one person’. The one that completes your life, your magic. She had spoken of the overwhelming feeling of being safe and taken care of when their magic intermingled. Of being able to trust someone implicitly. To be able to let go, fall and be caught again. 

His parents had that kind of relationship. They were soulmates. 

As strict and merciless as his father had been towards his two sons, he had been devoted to his wife. 

His mother had described to him many times the way she had felt during her wedding ceremony and he had listened with rapt attention. 

Since then, he had always wanted to experience it for himself with his own future wife. He had been looking forward to it. 

His mother had made it clear to him, however, that having a soulmate did not mean you would be living in absolute harmony forever. She had told him that there would be difficult times that would make him question if his own soulmate was truly the right one for him. 

Sometimes, whether there was such a thing as soulmates.

He hadn’t quite believed that part when he was younger. The idea of having a soulmate fascinated him and seeing how his parents loved each other made it seem like perfection. 

Only when he got older did he notice how different his parents really were. How much they both had to work to make the other one happy and how complicated their relationship truly was.

After that realization, he had often questioned why his mother had stayed with his father.

Nora Lestrange was a force to be reckoned with. She was one of the most powerful witches he had ever known. In addition to that, she was loving and inventive. When they were young, she had entertained Rabastan and him for hours - sometimes days - with her imaginative stories and games 

It seemed like nothing could harm her, nothing could break her stride. Nothing except his father. 

Randolph Lestrange was a brutal, merciless man who didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for what he did for the Dark Lord. He had been one of his first followers, back when they were still called the Knights of Walpurgis, and there was almost nothing he was more proud of. Nothing except his wife. 

The change that came over him when he saw her was - simply put - magical. Where he was vicious and unfeeling with his victims, he was all the more loving and considerate with his wife. 

The only truly positive emotion his father had ever shown was towards his wife. Nora had the ability to balance him out, as much as that had been possible. 

It had never occurred to Rodolphus that his parents had trouble in their relationship. They were soulmates after all. 

Every book he read and every story he heard spoke of how special that bond was. 

Nowhere did it say that it could be a horrible burden or an almost unbearable combination of character traits. 

Only later did he learn that it took his own parents a while to accept the other…scratch that…to stand the other. 

So, as much as soulmates complemented each other, they could also unbalance and challenge one another. And especially hurt the other. 

He would never forget the day he had burst into his father’s study, eager to tell his parents about what Rabastan and he had managed to build in the backyard with a little help from their house-elves. He hadn’t noticed his father’s raised voice and when he entered the room he found his mother cowering in a corner. Randolph had been standing above her.

He had never seen his mother like that: not regal, not elegant, not distinguished…not his mum. 

The fear on her face had multiplied when she’d spotted him at the door. Before she, or his father for that matter, could utter a sound he had turned around and fled. 

His father’s face had been twisted with rage.

He had never seen Randolph Lestrange like that either. He had heard whispers from guests that they entertained from time to time about how he was feared among the Dark Lord’s followers. He knew his father could be scary and strict with his sons when they didn’t listen, but he couldn’t say that he feared the man per se. 

He hadn’t believed any of their stories until that day. 

His mother had pulled him aside a few hours later when his father had left. His brother had been off somewhere playing with the elves.

“You’re growing up my sweet boy.”

She had brushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled sadly. He had been tall for a ten-year-old, nearly reaching his mother’s shoulders already. 

“I have told you about soulmates, but I have not told you enough about mine.” She had paused, examining his face. “But you’re old enough to learn a little more.” 

She had led him outside into the gardens, towards one of the benches surrounding the small pond. 

“Your father and I do love each other. I want you to know that.” She’d started when they were seated. “What you don’t know yet, is that it took us a while to reach that point. She was silent for a moment, gazing out at the rippling surface of the pond. “I met your father in school. We were both in the same house, but he was three years above me.” 

“I know, mum. You already told me how you and father met and fell in love.” 

“Yes, but I left out some of the details. Like the fact that we couldn’t stand each other at all. I aggravated him and he infuriated me.” 

His eyes had widened in surprise at her comment. She’d smiled. 

“Also, we were actually betrothed to each other but I only learned about it when your father was in his seventh year. We both tried our hardest to get out of it. But back then, there was no way to break the contract without severe consequences for both of us. So we married straight after I finished school.” 

“So you  _ were _ in love?” He had asked her eagerly. 

“No, Rodolphus. We still…well, to be honest, we still hated the other. Except for our wedding day, we hardly talked to one another for two years.” 

“I don’t understand, mum.”

She had stared out over the pond.

“It has something to do with the magic between soulmates. It was already there, even before we married, but neither of us wanted to acknowledge that fact. After our magic united it became clear that we were a perfect match. Now, we are both very stubborn people. Something you and your brother have unfortunately inherited.” She had turned to him and tapped his nose playfully. “It took us a very long time to even talk to each other without yelling or provoking the other, but eventually we found a way to live with each other. After that, it didn’t take us long to actually fall in love and five years later we were finally blessed with you.” 

She had smiled at him. 

“The soulmate bond forced us to interact with the other and eventually helped us find our true feelings. I won’t try to explain more right now because that is something you will have to feel for yourself when you find your own soulmate.” She had cradled his face in her hands. “And I know you will, Rodolphus.” 

She had turned back to the pond and they had been silent for a while. He remembered gathering his courage to ask about what he had witnessed in the study. She hadn’t answered him right away. 

Instead, she had pulled him closer and he’d happily cuddled into her side. 

“I love your father and he loves me very much. Just as he loves you and your brother. But even after all this time together, we’re still those same people that used to hate each other. Sometimes…sometimes that just overrides the love. 

“There are things that your father does, things that he sees differently than I do. Things that will become clearer when you get older.” Her gaze had grown guarded. “Today you witnessed how a disagreement between two people who used to hate each other can get out of control.” 

She had turned toward him and studied his face before continuing. 

“I know a lot of this will not make sense to you right away, but someday you will know what I mean and you will remember this conversation.” 

After that talk with his mother, he had noticed more and more situations like the one in the study. Maybe he had grown more aware of the negative side; maybe his parents forgot a silencing charm more often. 

Still to this day, he didn’t know all of it because his mother had stopped confiding in him sometime after his own wedding.

They’d had more talks throughout his school years but his father’s influence and, more specifically, the Dark Lord’s influence had gained the upper hand in his teenage years. 

Nora Lestrange had tried her hardest to shield her children from the darkness her husband brought into their lives. In the end, all the love, hope and stories she had shared with them did not prevent them from following in their father’s footsteps when she was gone. 

Marrying Bellatrix Black had been just the tip of the iceberg and nothing like he had hoped it would be. He hadn’t met her very often before their wedding. Their betrothal had mostly been arranged by his father. 

His mother had been firmly against it, but with his father and the backing of the Dark Lord, she had relented and tried her best to prepare her eldest son for marriage. 

He had thought he had understood the meaning of what his mother had told him that day at the pond - about how the relationship between your soulmate could be difficult and painful, but they were your soulmate nonetheless - when he noticed how he actually did not like Bellatrix at all. 

He had been so wrong. 

She was pretty. She always had been. On their wedding day especially. 

He had been attracted to her. He couldn’t deny it. She had a great body and was a pureblood. Two traits that a great wife was meant to have. He had confused his physical desire for her with the feeling of a deeper connection. 

With his mother’s stories in the back of his mind, he held onto the belief that, as soon as their magic was connected, he would feel the pull and the soulmate bond would take care of the animosity. 

He had been proved wrong on his wedding day. He just hadn’t wanted to realize it.

At first, it was great, at least physically. They’d had sex often and frankly, she knew how to fuck. 

But it was always just that. Aggressive, quick and very dirty. There were no tender moments, no deeper looks, no nothing. Just sex. 

He had been in denial since his wedding night and, within just a year of their marriage, he had to admit that she wasn’t the one. He could have recognized it after a week, but he hadn’t wanted to. 

There was no pull, there was no safe feeling, there was no love, not even fondness.

They coexisted and, with the growing power of the Dark Lord, his wife had found someone else to devote herself to.

He had let her. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t even try to stop her. His mother’s assurance that he would find his soulmate was so deeply ingrained in him that the disappointment of not finding her prevented him from wanting to make it work with Bella. 

She clearly hadn’t wanted to try either. But what he hadn’t considered was how spiteful and nasty she truly was. 

The first thing she accomplished was severing all his ties to his mother. He still didn’t know exactly what she did but, shortly after his wedding, the conversations with Nora Lestrange stopped. First they just grew more infrequent, then they became rare, and in the end, they barely talked at all. 

Since he was the Lestrange heir, he would inherit the manor after his parents were gone. They occupied their own wing on the opposite side of the large building to him and his wife, who inhabited the master bedroom and the main space. Although, Bella quickly moved into her own room and left him alone in the giant bedroom. 

Because of the spatial separation to his mother, he didn’t notice the change at first because everything else was different as well. 

His father didn’t much care for Bellatrix. The only thing he wanted from her was to give Rodolphus an heir. 

The other thing he cared about was the Dark Lord’s promises. Which threw a wrench between his parents even more than their personalities had previously done. 

Nora had always managed to control Randolph's baser urges. She was his light. 

When his mother died unexpectedly in 1972, that light was extinguished and all the darkness his father had accumulated over the years overwhelmed everything else until it took his life in 1981. 

The years without his mother were the blackest. 

Losing his mother devastated Rodolphus and he holed himself up in his room, not emerging except for the funeral. 

His brother and father were both shocked and grieving, but he was hit the hardest. 

He couldn’t quite remember what his wife did during that time and he honestly didn’t care. He had never lost the feeling, however, that she had something to do with his mother’s death. Although he had never found any evidence. 

After Nora’s loss, he succumbed to the darkness his father, his wife and the Dark Lord pressed on him every day. He gave himself up, piece by piece until there was almost nothing left of what his mother had tried to teach him throughout his childhood. 

He’d blacked out certain deeds he had fulfilled for the Dark Lord. Things that came close to what his father and wife liked to do for fun. 

Thinking back on them, he could hardly bear the guilt. 

When the Dark Lord fell, that night in 1981, he remembered being in a frenzy, triggered and fueled by his wife to get information from the Longbottoms. His wife, who was in love with their master. 

He had never mentioned her infidelity. It didn’t concern him after he had learned she couldn’t bear children. Apparently, she had made sure of that fact just before their wedding. She hated children. 

His pureblood supremacist wife, who held tradition, purity and bloodlines above all, had shirked one of the most important duties a pureblood wife could have: providing an heir and continuing the family line. 

By the time he learned of her self-mutilation, they’d been married for eight years. If he’d cared for her at all, he would’ve been furious. 

Furious like he’d been one year prior when he learned how his brother had been fucking his wife for years. 

Still believing that she would give him an heir, and high on the dark magic coursing through his body, he had duelled his little brother until they were both magically exhausted and Rabastan could barely stand up from his injuries. 

He didn’t know when his wife had switched from his brother to screwing the Dark Lord. Even if he’d known in the seventies, he couldn’t have done anything about it. Knowing Bellatrix, she had probably screwed more than one of his brethren during the years. 

He knew he’d been envied for having her. She had been pretty, and she relished the fact that other men recognized that.

Before Azkaban, admittedly. 

However, there had always been a simmering madness in her eyes. Dormant. Right under the surface. Their years serving the Dark Lord had slowly brought it out of her. Their master had known exactly how to entice it, and her.

And with the madness, came the ugliness. He now knew that that had always been a part of her, but he had never quite realized how close to the brink of insanity she had already been. 

Their stint in Azkaban had tipped her over the edge. That prison had a different effect on people. 

For his wife, it brought out the madness already in there. Heightening the fanaticism more and more over the years until nothing else was left but a crazed devotion to the Dark Lord. 

For his brother, it kickstarted the insanity that made him into a more dangerous killer than he’d already been. Rivalling his father and his wife. 

His little brother. After that duel over his wife, their relationship had never quite recovered. Thinking back on it, he still felt a sense of injustice and anger at Bellatrix because it had been so pointless. He had lost his brother that day. 

Azkaban took his sanity and the war took his life.

Losing him completely had broken something inside of him. More so because he was all alone now. 

Azkaban had given Rodolphus ample time to wallow in his grief and guilt. Fifteen years surrounded by your worst fears would do that to you.

However, when the Dementors were busy with a different prisoner - most of the time his wife, because she was mad enough already to feel happy about bad memories - he could breathe a little better. It helped further his Occlumency skills, too. 

Nevertheless, he didn’t actually understand why he didn’t turn insane like so many others. He remembered the oppressiveness of their presence, but it was almost like his soul knew there was something more out there for him and provided him with the means to survive and keep his mind. 

As twisted and unbelievable it was even to him, Azkaban brought him closer to his old self. The person who had worshipped his mother and held everything she said close to his heart. 

When, after fifteen years, he was free of the walls of the prison, it had still taken him a while to understand the changes inside himself. Being in the presence of the Dark Lord after so long felt different, too. Especially after seeing the crazed wizard.

He was still incredibly powerful and dangerous, but he looked like a shell of his former self. Rodolphus was lucky that the years had helped him perfect his Occlumency because if the Dark Lord had got even a whiff of his doubts and criticism he would’ve been killed on the spot. 

With the new look came a new madness that hadn’t been there before. Missteps and mistakes had always been punished, increasingly so in the seventies, but after the resurrection, the Dark Lord became unhinged. 

The Crucios came seemingly random and often without cause, creating a tense and grim atmosphere which only heightened the viciousness of the Death Eaters. Especially those that had escaped Azkaban, only to be forced to stay inside Malfoy Manor so as not to be discovered by those searching for them. 

When it was time to ambush Potter and his friends in the Ministry, Rodolphus was glad to be able to escape the oppressive air inside the estate. Even if it meant hunting down children. 

By that time, some of what his mother had taught him had resurfaced and he felt torn inside to follow his master’s orders. Because of the threat to his life, more so at that time than back in the seventies, he obeyed, using every loophole he could get away with to cause the least harm to the students. 

They had been given free rein to do as they pleased with Potter’s friends. Only the boy himself was not to be harmed, along with that damn prophecy. 

He had been paired up with his wife. As much as they didn’t like each other, magically they were of almost equal strength. Her madness fueled hers, though. 

She hadn’t paid that much attention to him, breaking up the pairs and sticking close to Lucius. Cementing herself as one of the ringleaders in the absence of the Dark Lord himself. 

Rodolphus had hung back and stayed in the shadows as much as possible, not paying much attention to the exchange between the Potter boy, his wife and Lucius. 

When the children ran, he was caught off guard. Not only by their nerve but also by their clever way of using their surroundings. 

He could no longer remain passive. If it got back to the Dark Lord that he hadn’t done anything, it would mean his head. So he followed them. 

He made sure not to cast any lethal spells on children when he and Bellatrix, who had been ordered back to his side by Lucius, found the two redheads and the blonde. 

When they cornered them in the Death Chamber and he saw  _ her  _ for the first time, something inside him clicked. 

It wasn’t a major shift in his world, it wasn’t a monumental jerk of his soul. 

She was just there and he knew. 

It was only then that he completely understood his mother’s stories.

They were on opposite sides of a brutal war that would only get worse and worse, and the only thing he could think about after that realization was the immense need to keep Hermione Granger safe. 

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again a big thank you to Lunamionny for betaing this beautifully. 💚

* * *

_ December 1998 _

  


She had been pacing outside the building for ten minutes now. Torn between announcing her presence and running for the hills. 

Christmas was slowly creeping up and it had started snowing that morning. She was wrapped in a warm coat, scarf and a woolly hat, complete with warming charm. 

She wanted to ignore the pull, the longing. She had tried her best but ever since that bloody moment in the Entrance Hall she had this feeling that she needed to be close to him. 

Of course, she hadn’t known what it was at first. There had been too much chaos, too much loss and too much grief to separate a single feeling. 

Trying to work through everything took a lot of energy out of her and she was exhausted almost every day, without having done much. 

Harry and Ron felt the same. 

It had somewhat improved over the last month, however. Maybe because she had always loved Christmas, and the prospect of celebrating it again, without the threat of capture or worse, lightened her heart a little. 

It didn’t take away the nightmares, though. It didn’t take away the need to leave the light on and have the house much warmer than she actually needed. It didn’t take away the pain. 

Interwoven with the pain and the memories was the weird sensation that drew her somewhere. It took her a few days to actually pinpoint the cause. 

The longer she stayed away and tried to forget about Rodolphus Lestrange, the stronger the pull got. She needed to get to the bottom of this as fast as possible.

Seeing him during his trial five months ago hadn’t helped either. 

She didn’t know what had possessed her to testify for him. Probably that fucking feeling she couldn’t get rid of. 

But it wasn’t just that. She hadn’t been the only one who had spoken in his favour. 

Apparently, he had fought for their side during the battle, even before he had reached her in the Entrance Hall. According to a little boy from Hufflepuff, who had snuck back into the castle after having been evacuated, Lestrange had protected him from Avery. 

Not only that, but on his way to her, he had taken out more than twenty Death Eaters and sympathizers, and saved more than a few people on the side of the Light. 

Just thinking that he had done all of it simply to get to her spurred that bloody feeling on.

He had even saved Tonks, by preventing his own wife from killing her. 

Tonks, who was now a widow and a single mother because Hermione hadn’t taken out Dolohov before he could kill Remus. That guilt was one of the hardest she had to burden. 

She still couldn’t wrap her head around all of it.

Not to mention the fact that Lestrange had saved her from falling debris, and later, when the battle had recommenced, a killing curse and his own brother. She hadn’t noticed him at first, but it seemed as if he had been a silent protective shadow, determined not to let anything hurt her. 

Rodolphus Lestrange had provided his memories for the Wizengamot to watch and the entire room had witnessed the bravery he had shown in turning his back on the other Death Eaters and his former master. A master he had devoted his life to for decades. 

Fighting alongside the Order of the Phoenix had impressed the court and, begrudgingly, Hermione too. 

Furthermore, it had been discovered that after he’d been broken out of Azkaban a second time, he had managed to lay low even among the Death Eaters. He had only participated in the pursuit the night they had tried to escort Harry from the Dursley’s in presence only; he had not cast one hostile spell towards any of the Order members. 

But what exactly did that all really _mean_?

During the trial, his entire service for Voldemort had been laid out in all its tragic glory. She had felt oppressed by just the thought of what it must have been like to live at Malfoy Manor. Not to mention the years before his imprisonment in 1981. 

She’d already known that he had taken part in torturing Neville’s parents into insanity. The Wizengamot had decided that they couldn’t convict him of the same crime a second time and considered the fifteen years he had spent in prison as punishment served. 

She was torn about that point. She loved Neville dearly and he had shown tremendous bravery and leadership during his time at Hogwarts and the final battle. What had happened to his parents was not something you could forgive easily…or at all. She understood why the friendship between her and Neville was strained after her testimony. She didn’t blame him. 

What had surprised her was Lestrange’s own testimony about his time in Azkaban. It wasn’t the things he said because she would’ve been the first to call bullshit on his insistence that the imprisonment had changed him and made him see the error of his ways. 

No, what had shocked her was _ how _ he had said it and the fact that she actually believed him. She hadn’t wanted to trust that seemingly rehearsed speech but her gut and that bloody feeling had slammed into her with a certainty that had momentarily taken her breath away. 

Of course, she had done her research about him. He had no family left. His parents had both died years ago and his brother had been killed in the battle, shortly after Lestrange had stopped him from ending Hermione. She couldn’t imagine how that would make a person feel. She felt the guilt of all the lives she’d had to take weighing on her conscience every day. How would he feel having inadvertently caused his own brother’s death? 

That had started the sympathy.

Her gut had never led her astray before, so she believed his testimony. 

Which was part of the reason why she was standing in front of the gates to the Lestrange Manor right now. 

It had now been twenty minutes, and she still wasn’t convinced she would actually enter, but she wanted answers. 

In addition to that infuriating feeling of longing, she still didn’t know how that bloody spell hadn’t hit him. 

She had gone over it and over it, and she was more than sure that her spell _ should _ have obliterated him. 

How could it have passed through him like that? And he hadn’t even seemed surprised, from what she could recall. 

What the hell had _ happened _? 

She had consulted books, of course. Every book she could get her hands on. None of them had held any satisfying answers. 

“Are you going to pace here all day or do you want to come inside before you slip on the snow?” A deep voice cut into her thoughts.

She whipped around and looked up at Rodolphus Lestrange standing behind the gates. 

He was tall. Probably close to six foot three, which made him tower over her. It was something that shot a thrill through her abdomen, which she swiftly ignored. 

She had never been this close to him, only a few feet away, and only separated by the gates. Not in the Department of Mysteries, not during the battle and not during his trial. He was so bloody handsome. 

He looked well put together. The coat he wore concealed his body from her view, and no doubt protected him from the cold, but she could clearly see his broad shoulders. 

His beard was neatly trimmed and his dark hair skillfully pushed back out of his face. It was longer than she remembered, slightly too long for her taste. But she would get used to that.

What. The. Actual. Fuck?! Where the hell had that thought come from? 

She met his eyes. 

“Still undecided,” she answered him honestly and promptly continued her pacing so as not to have to look at him any longer. “Why are you out here? Don’t you have elves to welcome guests?” 

She heard him sigh. 

“I have only one elf and he’s cleaning out the west wing, at present. I enjoy being outside, especially in the snow. Besides, you said it yourself, you’re not sure if you want to be a guest, yet.” 

She looked at him once more. He was following the movement of her feet with a smile playing around his lips. She averted her eyes again.

“What can I do to help you decide?” He asked her after she didn’t respond. 

She stopped again. She couldn’t avoid facing him forever, so she met his gaze.

“Erase your past?” She shot back and crossed her arms. 

She caught the slight grimace he tried to mask. 

“If only it were that easy.” His voice held the same sincerity as it had had during his testimony and she felt a pang in her heart. 

Sod him and sod that bloody feeling. 

“How are you going to let me in without your house-elf? They bound your magic.” 

“I may not have my magic for the foreseeable future, but I am still master of this estate. The gates recognize me.” 

And with a touch of his hand, the gates opened. 

“So, have you made your decision?” He stepped back and motioned for her to enter. 

She hadn’t. She was wary of stepping foot inside. He was without magic as far as she knew, except for his house-elf. He was still bigger and stronger than her, so physically he had the upper hand. But she had her wand. 

She needed answers and the books she had consulted didn’t hold the ones she wanted to hear. 

Studying his face, her gut made the decision for her, and she stepped forward. Before she walked past him though, she fixed him with narrowed eyes. 

“Am I safe here?” She asked him directly. 

“I promise, no harm will come to you while you’re with me.” He vowed and closed the gates again. “Shall we?” 

She eyed him suspiciously. 

“No funny business, Lestrange.” She pointed her finger at him, feeling slightly immature. 

He didn’t bat an eye but nodded silently, before matching her determined steps toward the manor. 

  


* * *

It almost felt like an out-of-body experience. 

He had been wishing she would turn up for months now. Ever since she had testified for him during his trial. He thought he had glimpsed recognition in her eyes, but the more time had passed, the more he had convinced himself that she didn’t feel the same way and wouldn’t show up. His mother’s stories be damned. 

No, he didn’t mean that. 

But he had doubted his feelings towards Hermione Granger, though that doubt was also something his mother had warned him about. Sometimes he had the feeling that his Nora Lestrange had been some sort of seer or even a matchmaker. Maybe she still made matches from beyond the grave. 

He needed to stop. This was getting absurd. 

Still, when he had seen Miss Granger pacing in front of the gates during his walk around the grounds, he had sucked in a breath. The cold air had hurt his teeth. 

She was a sight. Her riotous hair was contained under a hat but it was still wild enough to cause her to brush it away every few minutes. She looked small, but he already knew that. She was tiny compared to him, but a force to be reckoned with nonetheless. He wasn’t sure he would ever get tired of looking at her. 

It was refreshing to study her and not have to worry about her intense gaze judging his every move. Although, she was probably still doing it right now, considering it was likely that she was contemplating talking to him. 

He had watched her for a while. Curious to see if she would actually make herself known, but also worried that he would drive her away if he approached. 

When he did greet her, her standoffishness amused him more than it worried him, because they had come this far. She was here and they could actually talk. He would get another chance to explain things to her. Although, he wasn’t sure how he would do that, yet. 

She was sitting opposite him now, looking around the room with a raised eyebrow. He had taken her coat earlier and hung it next to his. She looked very nice. He was beginning to like Muggle clothing more and more. 

“You have one house elf for all this?” She asked, breaking the silence and waving a hand around the room. 

“I do. He’s been with my family for a century, and my personal elf since I’ve been a little boy.” He hesitated. “When…we were imprisoned, the manor stood empty for years. The house-elves kept the place clean and habitable. With my recent sentencing, I was forced to free them, and they were then bound to other families and the Ministry. I was only allowed to keep Torpy.” 

“How, though? They sentenced you to live like a Muggle. How did you get to keep him and this place?” There was obvious disapproval in her voice.

“I was permitted to live on the estate because I’m the last of the Lestrange line. If I had renounced the Manor as my home, I would not have been able to return to it, at least not as its Master.” She frowned but didn’t interrupt him. “I was authorized to keep Torpy because of the manor. The Ministry knows this estate needs magic to function, so I did not have to dismiss him, thankfully. Makes living alone less lonely. He is admittedly very busy, though. ” 

She crossed her arms and huffed. “So, you don’t actually live like a Muggle.” 

“That’s, technically speaking, not the actual terms of my sentence. They bound my magic for five years, pending reevaluation after three. Although, I do feel like a Muggle.” He couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice. 

“Which must be so hard, because Muggles are so beneath you, aren’t they? Wow, your new resolve didn’t even last half a year. Slytherins.” She mocked him. 

He grimaced. 

“That’s not why I sound bitter, Miss Granger. I haven’t held with those beliefs for years. Neither about Muggles nor Muggleborns.” He left it at that for now. “I have lived with magic as a part of me for forty-five years and now it’s gone. I can barely sense it right now and every day the feeling dulls even further. It’s also an enormous adjustment to do things without magic. It is mostly about the little things. But I will not complain about my sentence because I am very happy to be free.” 

“You’re on house arrest.” 

“But I am not in prison. Thanks to you.” 

She eyed him warily then averted her gaze. She was trying to avoid making eye contact as much as possible. 

“Don’t thank me. I don’t know why I testified for you. I shouldn’t have. You have done awful things all your life. A few good deeds don’t make up for all the pain you’ve caused.” 

He felt the guilt and shame rear its ugly head and stared at the rug beneath his feet. 

“I am aware of that, but you have my thanks nonetheless. I have already started to make amends and apologies, although it will never be enough.” 

“Right.” The sarcasm was heavy and although he knew she had every right to be mistrusting, it annoyed him. 

They were silent and he could feel the tension in the room.

“Miss Granger, I am deeply sorry for the pain my actions have caused you in particular. Although, I believe it was more my actions towards others and the absence of them towards you, that brought you misery and grief.” 

“Excuse me?! The absence of your actions? What are you talking about?” Her eyes flashed. “This is about your disgusting wife and what you said in the Entrance Hall, isn’t it? You really think I’ll believe that rubbish?... What was I expecting? He’s insane.” She added that last bit quietly while shaking her head. 

He knew he wasn’t supposed to hear it. He could almost feel the venom drifting off her in waves. She had a right to be angry.

But even so, it bothered him. 

She continued, “You said that I would always be safe with you. You protected me during the battle, and then, when I arrived earlier, you told me again that nothing would happen to me. Why? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I assure you, I am not insane, Miss Granger.” She sat up straighter, having been called out on her comment. “I was simply raised with different beliefs and a different view on life. The connections we have with others are important and can be very intimate. The reason-” 

“Oh, I know about your beliefs. I’m still living with your precious beliefs.” She interrupted him, ignoring the last bit of his statement. 

She was an aggressive little thing. He gritted his teeth, truly getting annoyed now. He still had his own temper to keep in check. 

“Miss Granger, I already told you that I don’t believe in blood supremacy. It’s absurd and I’ve known that for over a decade.” 

She rolled her eyes and it made his hackles rise. 

“My mother made sure to teach me right from wrong and, I might have lost my way for a while, but believe me -” He leant forward and let his aggravation show. “I am right back where she wanted me to be and I will not stray again. Now, why are you really here?” 

Her eyes widened and she squirmed slightly. Had he been too scary?

Her question, when she voiced it, surprised him because he hadn’t actually thought about it that much. 

* * *

“Why did that spell not hit you?” She blurted out. 

She hadn’t wanted to word vomit like that, but his gaze was so intense and the little thrill his voice had sent through her when it dropped a little deeper…Oh, Merlin, she was in trouble. 

“It passed right through you, I saw it.” She added.

He looked taken aback. He had probably expected she would keep harassing him about his pureblood beliefs, but truthfully she had just been annoyed at him and at herself. 

Because as much as she didn’t want to, she actually believed him. She couldn’t remember ever hearing him use derogatory terms towards Muggleborns. Granted, she only had the DoM’s battle as a reference, but in their few interactions, he had been so calm and courteous. Even now, although she could feel his annoyance at her attitude. 

She needed to get that under control. The tension between them kept shifting and she couldn’t predict what it might boil up to. 

She actually wanted to have a civil conversation with him, because she wanted truthful answers and angering him wouldn’t get her those. Their brief interaction during the battle had left her more than confused. 

What connection had he been talking about? She couldn’t really deny that she felt something drawing her to him, but actually being _ connected _, intimately, as he had just implied...? 

She also didn’t really believe that he was insane. She had seen insane up close in his dead wife. He wasn’t like that. 

“I will be honest, Miss Granger. I’m not sure how to respond to that. I don’t think the straightforward answer would help this situation, right now.” 

She huffed, exasperated. 

“Oh, please. Spare me this false modesty. I’ve read every book that could have even remotely answered my questions. It can’t be anything worse than that utter rubbish about soulmates.” She waved her hand dismissively. 

He stayed silent and just looked at her expectantly. 

“You’re joking.” Her mouth dropped when it clicked. 

He just kept staring at her.

“This has to be a joke. Fucking _ soulmates _?!” She leaned forward. Disbelief was heavy in her voice. 

“Yes, Miss Granger. Fucking soulmates.” He stated calmly, the corner of his mouth lifting up into a smirk. 

Why did he have to look so handsome, swearing like that? 

“How-? But…soulmates aren’t real.”

He leaned back and put his arm over the backrest of the sofa. It stretched the shirt he was wearing over his chest, pushing the buttons out and highlighting the muscles underneath. Was he wearing Muggle clothes? 

What were they talking about again?

He’d started talking again but she had a hard time concentrating on his words because her feelings were acting up in very concerning ways. 

“Soulmates have always been a part of our beliefs. My parents were soulmates and my mother told me stories about it. We all grew up believing in them, some more than others. But they _ are _real.”

“This is ridiculous. You do realize that, don’t you?” 

“It may be for you, but I was raised in this world. I’d like to forestall that this is not meant as an insult to your heritage. However, there are certain rules and beliefs. Yes, beliefs.“ He stopped her protest with a raised hand. “It does not mean that your beliefs are inferior or mine superior. They are simply different. We were taught differently, which means that you have to be open to some new things. Just as I have to be.”

She was insulted and noticed her temper resurfacing with a vengeance. Soulmates were a thing of fairy tales! And where did he get off insinuating that she wasn’t open-minded? She had just fought a war because people like him had tried to force their demented views on everyone else without considering the benefits of tolerance and change! 

She was so bloody sick of defending her existence!

“Fine.” She spat. “Aside from the fact that I don’t believe they exist, we can’t be soulmates! You’re sitting here so very happy with your freedom because the bribed and backward Ministry saw it fit to let you get off easy! You think wearing Muggle clothes shows how much you’ve changed? You’re a fucking Death Eater! You’ve killed and tortured and maimed! What would you know about being open to change?!” Her shrill voice resounded in the big room. 

He didn’t move even a finger but his face darkened dangerously. 

What had she done? 

She saw it warring inside of him. He wanted to hurt her despite what he had said earlier. She had truly ticked him off. She’d let her own temper get the better of her and now she would die because of his. 

He leaned forward then, with his hands balled into fists, showing the whites of his knuckles.

When he suddenly stood up and took a step toward her, she flinched more than she cared to admit. 

He noticed. 

She felt shame pool in her stomach. She couldn’t even stand her own ground. 

Instead of closing in on her, however, he abruptly turned and left the room. 

She was baffled. Was he going to get a knife to kill her? A heavy book? The house-elf? 

She rose up and quickly retrieved her wand from its hiding place. Then she tried to forcibly calm her heartbeat that had picked up and took a few hesitant steps forward. If she could just reach the front door…But would he be waiting for her, foregoing any tools and just kill her with his hands? She had her wand but a blitz attack could still take her out if she wasn’t careful...

He was already back before she could take more than three steps and halted when he saw her awkwardly paused in midstep. 

He raised an eyebrow and she felt…chastised? 

The constant change of mood between them almost gave her whiplash.

What was wrong with her? 

“This has been passed down through the generations to my mother and she gave it to me when I was old enough to read.“ He slowly closed the distance between them and held out a picture frame for her to take. “Go ahead, read it.”

She watched him suspiciously, having to look up to meet his eyes. His sudden change of mood unbalanced her. But she decided to tentatively trust the odd calm that he presented now.

She had believed him when he told her he wouldn’t hurt her…had believed him both times he’d said it.

“It’s an excerpt of one of my ancestors’ diaries.” He explained when she took it. 

The frame held a very old looking piece of parchment with a few lines written in a beautiful hand:

_ And so we stand on opposite sides of a tide, running to our doom, weapons raised. I cannot hurt her, and yet I plunge the knife into her body and wait for the warmth of her blood to heat my traitorous hand- _

Hermione looked up.

“This is rather disturbing.” 

“Keep reading.” 

She hesitated but fixed her gaze back on the page. 

_ It never comes. She is silent and still, nestled in my arms, our eyes locked. I can never look away from them. She smiles. She takes my hand holding the blade and pulls the knife out. She is well. The dagger is not painted with her life essence, but blank and bright as if just pulled out of its sheath. She is unharmed. No trace of my foolish thrust remains on her torso. _

_ She is my partner, my soul. It is physically impossible to harm the other. Any intent to harm will pass right through. _

“This doesn’t sound ancient,” Hermione remarked distractedly while trying to process the words.

“Should it?” 

“You could’ve written it yourself.” There she went, provoking him once more. 

She really had a death wish. 

But he surprised her again with his controlled reaction. She could see his tense stance: shoulders pulled back and slightly up. His face was impassive, except for his eyes. The anger was simmering underneath the surface. 

“Miss Granger, I understand that this seems unbelievable to you, but please, refrain from insulting me over and over again. We both have tempers that could easily…erupt.”

“Fair enough,” she responded but she couldn’t ignore her stomach doing a somersault at the darkness in his voice. Or was it his choice of words? 

He hadn’t stepped back after handing her the excerpt. His closeness caged her in. She was wearing heeled boots, but there was still a significant height difference. His blue eyes were bright, with tiny wrinkles at the corners. They were roaming over her face, taking in every detail it seemed. 

She shifted her weight a little to hide how uneasy she felt. Because this was uncomfortable…wasn’t it?

The smirk returned to his face and the tension between them changed to something else. She swallowed nervously, which he also noticed. She refused to back away, however. 

“Relax, Miss Granger. I am not going to pounce on you.” 

His breath washed over her face. 

She sucked in her own, but before she could let it out in relief, he added, “Not unless you want me to.” 

She felt warmth spread over her face and knew her cheeks were pink, although she was not sure if it was due to anger or arousal. She gathered her wits for a fitting comeback but a loud _ pop _ made her snap her head to the side before she could utter it. 

“Would Master Roddy and Mistress like tea?” The little elf that had appeared - Torpy, presumably - asked them, bowing deeply. 

Hermione gaped. _ Mistress? _

She turned her head back to Lestrange. He hadn’t moved and was still looking at her, his eyebrows raised again. He was waiting for her response.

She looked back to the elf who had approached them, who was now looking up at her, also waiting for her reply.

What in the world was going on?!

“Er…no, th-, thank you, er…Torpy.” She stammered finally. 

The elf bowed again and disappeared with another _ pop _. 

She took a step back from Lestrange and felt simultaneously relieved and disappointed to be free of his proximity. 

There was an awkward pause, during which Hermione tried to look anywhere but at him. 

She clenched her hand and noticed that she was still holding the excerpt.

Wanting to get back on track, kind of, she cleared her throat. 

“This doesn’t prove anything.” She said and waved the picture frame. 

“Please, be careful with it.” He grimaced. 

She looked down. He had told her it was important to him or at least hinted at it. Immediately, she felt guilty. What was wrong with her? Her feelings were all over the place. 

She had to go. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. 

She approached him again and handed him the frame before starting to move towards the hall. 

“I’d like to leave, Lestrange.” 

He stayed silent for a moment, seemingly unwilling to let her go. 

Then he closed his eyes and nodded. 

“Of course. I’ll escort you to the gates.” 

* * *

With their coats back on, they walked silently down towards the gates at the end of the gravel drive. 

Hermione was lost in thought. The cold air was beginning to clear her head. She decided against a warming charm. She wanted to feel the cold prickling her face. 

He broke the silence first. 

“From what I heard about you, Miss Granger, you like to read.” 

She watched his breath fog in front of his face and confirmed the statement with a nod. 

“Could I ask you-“ he started. 

She hadn’t paid attention to her feet and let out a squeak when her right foot slipped on the snow. 

Before she could land unceremoniously on her arse, however, Lestrange had moved swiftly to catch her. One arm was pressed against her lower back and the other gripped her forearm. 

She could feel the warmth of his hand spreading through her, even through the layers of clothing. It started right where he had grabbed her arm, and the way the feeling inside her sang was hard to ignore. 

She was suspended in mid-fall. Their bodies were pressed together with him hovering slightly over her. It almost looked like he had dipped her during an intimate dance. 

She wondered what it would feel like to touch his skin. 

He was too close. 

She needed him closer. 

He pulled back and righted both of them again. 

“Thank you.” Her voice was barely audible. 

“Be careful.” He spoke softly. 

They resumed their walk and stayed silent until they reached the gates. She looked up at him. 

He was frowning.

"There is a lot of lore and information about soulmates if you want to know more. It would mean a lot to me if you were to research it and try to keep an open mind. If you have any questions at all, or just want to talk, you’re welcome to visit anytime. Even if you just want to yell.” He chuckled at her raised eyebrow. “I’ll have Torpy add you to the wards.”

She opened her mouth to protest but decided otherwise and just nodded. 

He opened the gates for her with another touch and she stepped outside. 

“Goodbye, Miss Granger.” She heard him murmur. 

She kept walking and did not respond.

Right before apparating, and without conscious thought, she looked over her shoulder and met his gaze. 

He hadn’t moved. 

Then she vanished. 

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially, Opposing Sides was supposed to be my NaNo project, but this chapter alone took me a long time because the words just wouldn't work. So we are still doing sporadic updates, but hopefully, the following chapters will come easier now. 
> 
> Thank you to all you beautiful people, who left Kudos, subscribed, favourited and commented. You honestly put a smile on my face every time I get a notification.
> 
> Finally, thank you to Lunamionny, who did an amazing job with this chapter, as always. 💚
> 
> Enjoy!💚

* * *

He had wanted to offer her his arm on the way down to the gates, but knew that she wouldn’t have wanted him to. He had fought the urge to pull her to him. 

But having to catch her felt just as good. Their connection had been singing inside him. He was sure she must have felt it too, because her pupils had widened noticeably. 

He had let go of her again—too quickly for his taste—because he knew she was scared.

When he’d said goodbye, he hadn’t expected her to turn around, but when she had, and their eyes had met, a warm sensation that he could still feel had spread through him. Her face led him to believe that she would return. 

When he was sure she had left, he’d called Torpy and had him add Ms Granger to the wards as he had promised. 

It was still snowing, but he didn’t mind. He decided to resume his walk around the grounds to clear his thoughts and try to analyze her behaviour …and his own. 

He knew he should have controlled himself better. He was aware that she was still wary of him or, more accurately, scared. In her eyes, he had never been anything but a Death Eater and a mark like that would take time to wash off. 

He wasn’t sure it would wash off at all. 

He stopped walking and lifted his left arm, rolling up his sleeve to look at the patch of skin that used to show his Dark Mark in all its haunting allure. He could still make out the outline and the shape, but it was faded and had the appearance of a scar. He felt bitterness well up inside of him. There was no way to get rid of it completely. It would always be a stain on his body, as if his memories and other scars didn’t weigh on him enough. 

He averted his gaze and pulled down his sleeve again. It wouldn’t help to stare at it. He had trouble admitting it to himself, but it was difficult for him to come to terms with everything he had done over the years. He had told Ms Granger that he had already started to make amends—which wasn’t a lie—it just seemed impossible to make up for the fact that he had been responsible for taking people’s loved ones away. The amount of resistance and hostility he was facing didn’t help the constant stream of guilt he felt. The fact that he couldn’t leave the grounds made it even more difficult. 

It was another reason for his less than ideal handling of his and Ms Granger’s tempers. He had expected her to be mistrusting and wary, but her overt hostility had hurt more than anyone else’s he’d had the misfortune to be on the receiving end of. 

The effect her behaviour had had on his mood and reactions was fascinating, but also terrifying. He could still remember how it had felt to not be in control of his own actions; it had been like that for years during his service to the Dark Lord. 

It hadn’t worked out that well, considering Ms Granger had attacked and insulted him over and over again. 

He had felt the panic rise up inside of him, because he was scared of what would happen if he lost control with her. Of course, he was aware of the fact that he couldn’t harm her physically…but emotionally, it was an entirely different game. 

He didn’t want to hurt her, not at all, but something told him that it would undoubtedly happen. They were both very quick to anger. Banter had always been something he had enjoyed, the trouble was that it could become dangerous very fast, especially with him and Ms Granger and their history - or more accurately - _his _history. 

If he made an effort to declutter his own thoughts, thoughts that revolved around guilt and shame, he could see where she was coming from, at least a little bit. She had been raised in the Muggle world, and had not been aware of the magical world for years. It was natural for her to be sceptical about certain things. However, did she honestly not feel the pull between them? It was remarkably obvious. 

The moment he had spotted her in front of the gates, he had felt a calm wash over him. It also explained why he had felt almost pressured to take a walk earlier, more than any other time in the past few months. Their connection was undeniable. He needed to have faith that she would come to the same conclusion. 

He knew a lot about the soulmate bond they shared, but even he did not know everything. It was moments like this when he really missed his mother. Her loss felt heavier when he was in need of guidance. She could have explained this so much better to Ms Granger than he had. 

He looked up to the manor. 

One thing that gave him pause was how Torpy had addressed Ms Granger. The old elf hadn’t called anyone ‘Mistress’ in decades, not since his mother had been alive. He had been the only elf to reject Bellatrix as his Mistress and often ignored her calls or orders. 

Rodolphus had been worried that the elf would get himself killed due to Bella’s tendency to go overboard with retaliation, when she thought she’d been wronged. Torpy had always been fine, though. He knew the nooks and crannies of the manor better than anyone, so it was likely he had found plenty of hiding spots whenever his ex-wife had been on a rampage. 

His ex-wife.

He hadn’t thought about her in a while. Not since his trial five months ago. It was odd, remembering her now that he knew she was never supposed to be his true partner. If he had he known about Hermione back then, would he have done things differently? 

He couldn’t say. 

Hermione hadn’t even been born back then. His decision would’ve been solely dependent on how much he trusted his mother’s word and at that time, he thought he had. So, how had he ended up like this? 

A widowed Death Eater, sentenced to live out the next several years without magic, and prohibited from leaving his property, which effectively meant no human contact. 

He did not have any friends left that would visit him. Even if they weren’t dead or sentenced to Azkaban, they wouldn’t be visiting him. Although they had called each other brothers, he had never truly considered the other Death Eaters as such, or even friends for that matter. They had been forced together because of the whims of a madman, and by their need for power and dark magic. 

He stopped walking. 

He couldn’t remember ever actually having a normal friend. The closest thing he’d had to one had been his brother, but he was dead now too. Even so, their relationship had been more than strained thanks to Bella and all the shite that had been in his life back then. 

Of course, he’d had conversations with other Death Eaters. They just weren’t conversations you’d expect between so-called brothers. They were about purity, the Dark Lord’s plans, new and improved darker spells, and so on and so forth. It wasn’t what he would imagine having a friend to be like. 

But how was he supposed to find one now? He wasn’t allowed to go outside the grounds and the only person who had visited him since he had returned home had been Ms Granger. He did not consider her a friend, although it might help them both to start this relationship as just that. Maybe that way it would be easier for her to accept him and there would be the possibility of getting to know each other better, without acknowledging the pressure of their soulmate bond. At least, not too much. 

“Master Roddy, dinner is ready for you. Torpy made your favourite to celebrate.” 

It was dark outside. He snapped his head down to look at his hard-working elf. He wanted to ask him about the title he had used with Hermione, but he decided against it for now. He’d had enough soul searching and analyzing for one day. Tomorrow would bring more time to do just that. 

“Thank you, Torpy. I’ll be right in. I just want to finish my walk.” 

“Of course, Master.” 

With a _ pop _, Torpy vanished.

“What are we celebrating?” he mumbled to himself. 

He hadn’t noticed how long his thoughts had kept him outside and was surprised to notice the amount of snow on his shoulders and around him. He also hadn’t noticed the cold that had seeped into his clothes and which seemed to have burrowed under his skin. 

He missed disapparating. Why had he told Torpy to go on ahead? 

With a sigh, he turned towards the manor and made his way through the snow to settle his hungry stomach. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


She hadn’t slept well the previous night. She had left Lestrange Manor around noon and had tried to dig up every book she owned about soulmates. She’d devoured them. When she _ had _ gone to bed, in the early hours of the morning, all the information she had absorbed and her encounter with Lestrange had replayed in her head, until she had given up on sleep entirely. She had moved from her bed to the sofa and had made herself comfortable in order to continue her research. Then, of course, she had promptly fallen asleep there. 

When she woke up a few hours later, she felt like she hadn’t slept at all. Her neck hurt from sleeping at an odd angle and her foot was numb from being buried under a pile of books she’d left at the end of the sofa. 

“Perfect,” she grumbled, with a dark look towards the sun that was shining right in her face and had probably been the reason she had woken up. 

She let out an annoyed sigh and sat up, moving her foot around to get some feeling back into it. When she was sure her leg wouldn’t collapse under her, she got up and walked toward the window. 

It had stopped snowing sometime in the early hours and everything was covered in a thick layer of it. The sun made it sparkle mysteriously and she heaved another sigh before closing the blinds and moving toward her kitchen. She wasn’t in the mood for mysterious. 

She had moved into this flat two months ago. Before that, she had stayed with Harry at Grimmauld Place. She wasn’t sure why he had opted to move in there, when the Weasley’s had invited him to live at the Burrow. 

It might have been something to do with him wanting to be close to what remained of Sirius, although that house had never really been a home to his godfather either. But living in the place Sirius had spent the last few months of his life seemed to give Harry something he needed. 

Hermione guessed his decision was also based on the fact that he wanted to avoid Ginny and her mother and all the talk about him getting back together with her. Hermione wasn’t sure what she thought about the situation. 

The couple had seemed inseparable during the short period at the end of her sixth year when they’d been together. Hermione had supported Harry in his decision to break up with Ginny, although she still didn’t understand it completely. Of course, it had been dangerous back then, and she understood his urge to protect Ginny, but they all knew Ron’s little sister – it was obvious she could handle herself. Hermione also hadn’t wanted to point out that _ everyone _Harry had been associated with was in danger. That wouldn’t have helped at all. 

In hindsight, it had been better for them to have a clean break. Being on the run would have been even more difficult for Harry if they’d stayed together, but Hermione had been sure they would get back together the moment the threat was over. Harry had been pining after the redhead during that long year hunting Horcruxes, so his decision to stay away from Ginny surprised her. 

Of course, Ginny had her own demons to fight. Hermione didn’t know everything that had happened during that last year at Hogwarts but based on Neville’s tales and the things that came to light during the trials, it had been just as horrible in the castle as it had been outside. 

She had been witness to a nasty argument between Harry and Ginny back in June. It had been entirely Harry’s decision to not get back together. As far as Hermione could tell, he just wanted some space. Probably to process all the things he’d had to endure, especially during the Final Battle. 

Ginny, on the other hand, had wanted to be close to him and had used every available moment to do just that. But the closer she got, the more Harry pulled away, until it came to a head at Grimmauld Place.

Hermione had just come back from one of the long walks she had gotten into the habit of taking, when she stumbled into the middle of a screaming match between her two friends. They had been standing on opposite sides of the kitchen, yelling at each other. The gist of it had been Ginny’s need to have Harry back in her life. She had insulted him and blamed him for never being there when she needed him, which had hurt Harry more than Ginny could have understood. It had ended with her accusing him and Hermione - after Hermione had been noticed - of screwing everything up, and blaming them for the people she had lost. 

That had been the last straw for Harry and he had completely lost his own temper. Emotions had still been very high back then and Harry held nothing back. In the end, Ginny had stormed out of the house a crying mess and Harry had locked himself in his room for five days. 

She couldn’t even blame him. Hermione knew very well how much guilt Harry felt about the deaths of all the people they had lost. To have Ginny accuse him of actually being responsible for them, despite the fact that they all knew he wasn’t, had been a low blow. 

Not matter what Hermione had tried, he hadn’t come out of his room or even acknowledged her presence. Maybe Ron would’ve been able to get Harry out of his hole, but Ron hadn’t been there.

Hermione missed him every day, but she hadn’t really been surprised by his decision to leave them. 

A few days after Percy’s funeral, Ron had announced that he would be leaving to travel around Europe and visit Charlie in Romania, who had left a day prior. 

Mrs Weasley was devastated and tried her hardest to change his mind, but three days later, Ron announced his departure in the form of a short goodbye note to his family. He hadn’t even mentioned Harry or Hermione in it. 

For her, it was a repeat of his flight in the forest. He was faced with a situation he didn’t know how to handle, so he ran. But this time, it wasn’t just Harry and Hermione he’d abandoned, it was his entire family, on the heels of losing someone close to them. It hurt. 

She wanted to run too, but she knew it wouldn’t help anyone, least of all herself. 

She and Harry still visited the Weasley’s occasionally, but it always felt a little…stiff. 

Ginny had returned to Hogwarts after her mother pressured her into doing so. Hermione had thought it was a good idea, because the education Ginny and her peers had received the previous year was next to none when it came to the actual curriculum. 

Hermione had considered returning to finish her schooling, but in the end, she’d decided against it. She thought that being at Hogwarts would set her back, would remind her of the war and the Final Battle, especially considering the castle was still under renovation and she would have been reminded of all the loss at every corner. 

She could understand why Ginny didn’t want to return to school either, but Mrs Weasley had been adamant. 

Ever since Ginny had stormed out of Grimmauld Place, their friendship had been put on ice. Hermione had been convinced that, as soon as Ginny calmed down, they would be able to talk about it and clear the air, but the redhead managed to avoid both Harry and Hermione every time they were at the Burrow. 

She hadn’t heard from her in months.

Hermione had thought they had grown closer in the immediate aftermath of the battle, but it seemed she’d been mistaken. 

It all came down to the row she had stumbled into. Ginny considered Ron’s departure as another loss to her family and blamed it on Harry and Hermione for not trying to stop him. It didn’t make sense, but Ginny had been crippled after losing Percy. 

When Hermione had learned that even Harry hadn’t heard from Ginny in a while, she was confused. Hermione had the feeling that Harry wanted to talk to Ginny, maybe even consider getting back together. She knew that he was lonely, just like Hermione was. 

She hoped that the Christmas holidays would bring them all together again. The Weasley’s had invited Harry and Hermione to spend the festive days with them, and they’d both happily accepted the invitation. 

Hermione was glad she had the opportunity to spend Christmas with people she loved. Especially considering her parents were in Australia without any memory of her. 

She was aware that it was cruel to leave them like that, but she was afraid. If she were truly honest with herself, she hadn't expected to survive the war. She hadn’t wanted to entertain the possibility that she would be able to see them again and return their memories. The fact that this was actually possible now terrified her. 

She planned on trying to find them in the new year. Aside from the fear she felt, she wanted to be healthy again when she saw them; free of the demons from the war that still hung close to her. 

She still had a lot of work to do. 

* * *

  
  


It had been almost a week since she had visited Lestrange, and every day had had the same pattern. 

She would wake up early - too early - usually as a result of the many nightmares she had. Repeated images of their capture in the woods, of Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix’s face right above hers and all the dead bodies during the Final Battle. 

The worst nightmare, however, was the one about Remus. In every single one, he died. She was always too late. The only thing that changed was how his death came about. Sometimes, Dolohov’s face was a deformed mask of glee. When it was really bad, she didn’t even manage to kill the Death Eater, but died herself instead. It haunted her. 

She thought it had got better, but the nightmares had resurfaced with a vengeance in the past week and they had exhausted her, both mentally and physically. Her days consisted of falling asleep for an hour on her sofa or in the bath, but that didn’t help with her fatigue and lack of energy. 

It almost felt like her body had exhausted all its energy in one giant exhale and now she was trying to get it back. Even her magic, as far as she could feel, seemed unbalanced, more than she had ever noticed before. As much as she wanted to deny it, it had all started the day – or more accurately the night – after she had visited Lestrange, and it seemed to be getting worse. 

When she wasn’t trying to forget her nightmares, or fall asleep, she was researching. It seemed like she’d ordered every available book in the world, judging by how chaotic her flat looked. There wasn’t one surface without a pile of books. 

Yet, none of them held the answers she was looking for. 

On the eighth day, however, she was woken up even earlier than usual. Her body felt incredibly heavy and her eyes were burning from the lack of sleep. The past week had been hellish for her health and sleep schedule.

She heard a persistent tapping that grated on her nerves. It was Harry’s owl, determined to deliver a letter.

She finally got up from her bent position on the sofa and opened the window to let the owl in. It promptly complained about the wait. Hermione offered a piece of her toast that was still on a plate from a few hours ago and relieved the owl of the letter. 

Closing the window after the animal had left, Hermione noticed that the snow had completely gone. She hadn’t been paying attention to the outside world and now, on top of feeling like shit from lack of sleep, she felt sad. 

She loved snow and should have taken the opportunity to enjoy it whilst she could. Instead, she’d been cooped up in her flat with a serious lack of energy and aching muscles.

Her feelings were all over the place as well. Ever since she had started her research…no, ever since she had met Lestrange face to face, her entire emotional response was off. 

Her research on soulmates had mainly brought up numerous theories on sympathetic magic, shared magic and harmonious magic. She hadn’t heard of the latter before, which was odd. The books implied it was a well-known fact in the magical community, but in all her reading over the years, she hadn’t come across it once. 

It seemed to be an integral part of the ‘soulmate magic’, whatever that meant, but that didn’t help her understand the absurdity Lestrange had spouted. 

She was convinced the term ‘soulmate’ was just a metaphor for some form of intense obsession. She did not believe in being connected to another human being on the level that Lestrange had suggested. It was ridiculous, and somewhere in her books she would find proof of that and set him straight. 

She had taken copious amounts of notes, to the point where even _ she _thought it was too much, which was saying something. 

She still held Harry’s letter in hand. She hadn’t opened it yet. She honestly wasn’t sure she wanted to; she had ignored all his other notes during the week. This one was bound to be strongly worded. 

She heaved a sigh. She shouldn’t put it off any longer, it just wasn’t like her. Harry was her closest friend, ignoring him hurt him and herself, so why had she been doing it?

She looked at the letter and decided to take a shower before tackling Harry’s missive. 

The moment she turned off the shower, she heard loud knocking on her front door. It sounded as if whoever was trying to get her attention had been doing so for a while. 

With one towel wrapped around her body and another around her hair, she approached her front door. 

“Who is it?” 

“Hermione? Thank Godric! Open up, I’m not leaving until you let me in.” 

“Harry?” 

“Of course it’s me. Come on, Hermione. Let me in.” 

There went her strategy of avoiding a talk with him. She grimaced, but moved to open the door for her best friend. 

He stormed passed her as soon as there was enough room for him to do so and whirled around before she’d had time to close the door fully. 

“What the hell is going on with you? Why haven’t you…Oh, sorry.” He hastily turned away when he noticed her state of undress. 

“It’s fine, Harry. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” 

That was true. Being on the run with two boys in the English countryside with limited resources, you were bound to run into each other while naked...or in an embarrassing situation. She’d seen his bits, he’d seen hers. It was no big deal…although Harry was very gifted and Hermione considered Ginny one lucky girl.

“Right. It’s still weird, though. So, go and get dressed and we’ll talk when you’re decent,” Harry bossed in a tone Hermione recognised as his ‘take charge’ voice. She relented easily because a part of her knew that she needed it. 

As Harry made his way towards the living room, Hermione shook her head with a smile and moved to her bedroom. Throwing on the first clothes she could find, she joined Harry just three minutes later. 

She stood awkwardly before her own sofa. Harry had tidied up her blankets and pillows and was scrutinizing her with narrowed eyes. 

“Why are you being all fidgety over there? Sit down and talk to me.” His voice surprised her in his gentleness and she felt her shoulders relax. 

This was Harry; her best friend Harry, who she had seen at his lowest, and helped through a war and grief and loss. He could handle anything. 

She sat down next to him and let her head fall against the back of the sofa. 

“What’s happening with you? I knew there was something going on but you honestly look…I’ve never seen you like this. You look beaten down. What’s happened?” 

“Nice to hear I look that good,” she grumbled. 

He nudged her with his shoulder. 

“I just…I don’t know. I don’t feel like myself. I feel drained and tired, as if I’ve used up all my energy and my magic. I haven’t felt like this since May, and I haven’t been doing much. I’ve been cooped up in my flat for the past week.” 

“How can that be? Did you do anything special before that?” 

Hermione stayed silent, noticing a new crack in her ceiling. She wasn’t sure she wanted to tell him about her visit to Lestrange Manor. 

“Hermione?” 

She looked at Harry and felt tears pricking her eyes. She didn’t want to cry; she had no reason to. 

“Come here.” Harry opened his arms and Hermione only hesitated for a second before she crawled into them. 

She let her tears fall silently. Harry didn’t say anything, just held her, while she let go of all the emotions she’d piled up in the past week. 

Even after the tears had stopped, Hermione didn’t make a move to leave Harry’s side. Ever since they had spent months together on the run, there was a closeness between them that she didn’t want to trade in for anything. 

When she thought back on the darkest days in the tent, those days after Ron had left, there were moments between Harry and her that could’ve gone in a very different direction, and they had both known it. They also knew that they would never act on that possibility, because they didn’t need to. Their friendship was all they needed from each other; the bond they had was more than either of them had ever thought possible before arriving at Hogwarts all those years ago.

There was a calm Harry exuded now; one that he had never had before and Hermione felt very lucky to be able to experience it. 

She took a breath, wanting to start talking, but Harry surprised her with a question. 

“Have you eaten anything?”

She frowned. “Yes…?”

“That didn’t sound very convincing. Let me rephrase: have you eaten anything other than squishy toast or sweets?” 

Hermione grimaced. 

“That’s what I thought. Listen, you go and clean away those tears and then come over to my place for breakfast. We can talk there.” 

“Okay.” She nodded and actually felt her spirits lift slightly. 

It would be good to finally get outside, and she asked herself why it took Harry to show up to get her to consider it in the first place. 

After he had left, she made her way to her bathroom again. Her eyes were puffy and they really hurt, not only from crying but also from lack of sleep. 

She tried to make an effort with her hair but gave up pretty quickly when none of the spells she usually used worked properly. 

She chalked it up to her exhaustion. She exited the bathroom and made her way to the front door. 

She could have used the Floo Network to get to Harry’s, but she wanted to be outside and feel the air. So she decided on walking a bit before disapparating. 

Taking her coat from its hook, she caught a whiff of an amazing scent that seemed to cling to it. It smelled spicy, almost like Christmas, although she hadn’t baked or bought any biscuits yet. There was a note of some kind of woodsy aroma, maybe rosewood? She wasn’t sure. She also caught the smell of parchment, but that seemed to always cling to her anyway. 

She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent, and felt her body relax; her shoulders grew less tense, her neck and lower back didn’t hurt as much and her eyes didn’t feel as heavy. 

She stood in the hallway, holding her coat close, trying to think of why it would smell so delicious. She knew none of her perfumes smelled anything like this. It took her far longer than it should to think of where this combination of scents could have come from. 

That was what _he _had smelled like. She hadn’t consciously noticed his scent when he’d held her close, but it had been there. 

She looked down at the coat and seriously considered getting another one out of the depths of her wardrobe, but decided against it and put it on. Immediately, his smell completely enveloped her and she took a deep breath, feeling his scent almost bury itself into her skin. 

She stubbornly ignored the flutters in her stomach, and the fact that he hadn’t even held her long enough for the smell to seep into her coat in such a way. 

She headed out the door to meet up with Harry. 

When she landed in front of number 12, Grimmauld Place the first thing she noticed was the dizziness that washed over her. Maybe she had disapparated too quickly? 

Her magic still felt unbalanced, even after her short walk outside. That familiar feeling of longing was inside her chest again and it gave her pause. 

Over the last few months, the pull she had felt in her core had steadily grown more intense. At first, she’d been able to ignore it, or distract herself, but it had reached a point where that hadn’t been possible anymore; that had been the moment she’d decided to follow the feeling and found herself in front of Lestrange Manor. 

Being completely immersed in her books and glued to her sofa, she hadn’t even noticed how the longing had lessened right after the visit and then increased again rapidly. Right now, concentrating on it, it felt almost as bad as it had right before she visited Lestrange. 

That didn’t make any sense.

She had read a lot this week, but she didn’t _ actually _want to decipher what it meant for her. Bloody hell, she still wasn’t convinced it even pertained to her. 

And why did she feel calmer when she consciously breathed in that delicious smell surrounding her?

“Are you going to come inside?” 

Her head snapped up. For a second she felt like she was back at Lestrange Manor, but it was only Harry standing at the door and her heart slowed its erratic beating. 

She stepped inside. “Apparently, I have a tendency to get lost in thought whilst standing by the entrances of buildings. Hey Harry.”

He frowned at her obscure comment before turning around and leading her through to the kitchen where he had already prepared food and two cups of hot tea. 

She was impressed by the spread in front of her and heard her stomach growl. She was hungry. 

“Go ahead. Dig in.” Harry motioned to the table with a grin. 

And she did. 

* * *

  
  


“This was really good, Harry. Did you channel Mrs Weasley by any chance?” Hermione asked him after they had both finished eating. 

She felt a little lighter and a little heavier at the same time. Though she was sure the weight came from all the food. 

“Sort of. I always had to cook at the Dursley’s, so I’m actually pretty good at it, but the _ quantity _stems from watching Mrs Weasley all these years.” 

Hermione fixed him with a death glare. 

“So, Harry, tell me. Why did you make _ me _ cook in the woods, if you’re perfectly capable of it?” she hissed. 

Harry’s eyes widened for a second, noticing his mistake. Then, he seemed to be fascinated by the corner of the kitchen table. 

“Well, …you see…I kind of…didn’t want to cook? Plus, you know how the locket messed with our emotions and…well, I’m sorry? You were great at it, though!” 

He met her eyes and they stared at each other for a few seconds before they both burst out laughing. 

“You’re still an amazingly bad liar, Harry,” she said between breaths. “I was awful. I still can’t cook, which just doesn’t make sense to me! It’s just like potions and I can do that perfectly.” 

“Maybe you just need the right teacher…and I don’t mean me.” 

Hermione frowned, wondering what he was getting at. 

“Don’t be mad, but I get the feeling that you’re lonely. Maybe you need to get out of your flat a little - try to meet up with some of your friends or maybe even a nice guy, you know?” 

She was surprised. She had wondered about how to approach the subject of Lestrange with Harry, but it seemed like he was giving her the perfect opening. Although, she wasn’t quite sure how the idea of Rodolphus Lestrange related to Harry’s suggestion; he was neither a friend nor a nice guy. 

“Actually, I have to tell you something, and I’m quite sure it’s the reason I didn’t…or rather, couldn’t leave my flat for the last week. It’s also an…explanation for why I was so…” she trailed off, trying to think of the right word. 

“Bitchy, moody, snappy, barely able to sit still, very impatient…absent?” Harry supplied, counting the things off on his fingers. 

“Wow, nice Harry. Please, don’t hold back or soften the blow.” 

Harry grimaced and averted his eyes for a second, before meeting hers again. 

“I don’t think beating around the bush helps you. I don’t think you realize how little you’ve interacted with…well, anyone in the past few weeks. And I mean _ weeks _ \- as in, more than one. This last one was just the worst, as far as being absent goes.” 

That gave her pause. Had it really been that bad? 

“Yes, it has.” Harry supplied before she even realized she had spoken out loud. “Neville and Tonks have been asking after you. She’s here quite often with Teddy, you know.” 

Hermione felt the familiar pit of guilt open up in her stomach and averted her eyes. She hadn’t seen Tonks since Lestrange’s trial. 

“How is Tonks?” she asked quietly. 

“She’s…as well as can be expected, I guess. She misses Remus, of course. Teddy keeps her occupied and sane, at least that’s what she says. It's been difficult, but she’s also very grateful that she’s still alive. She told me that she wanted to talk to you.” 

Hermione’s head snapped up.

“Why? What did she say?” she asked too quickly. 

Harry cocked his head. “She just said she wanted to talk to you and to tell you just that when I saw you.” 

“Oh, okay…” Hermione trailed off, lost in thought. 

She could guess what it was about. Tonks probably wanted to know exactly why Hermione hadn’t been able to save her husband. Remus’ death still weighed heavily on Hermione, even more so than Percy’s did. She blamed herself for not being faster in stopping Dolohov. If she had controlled her fear sooner, or hadn’t lost her head and hid in that alcove, she would have been able to save her former teacher. 

It was her fault he was dead. 

“Hermione? Hermione!” Harry was snapping his fingers to get her attention back. “You completely spaced out.” 

She was gripping the sides of her chair so hard her knuckles had turned white. She loosened her fingers and folded them together on top of the table. Then she met Harry’s eyes. He looked worried again. 

“What’s going on, Hermione?” 

She opened her mouth, but closed it again, not sure if she actually wanted to unleash this complicated mess on him. It felt like everything was connected: Lestrange, Remus, Dolohov, Tonks. 

She was afraid that if she started to unravel all of it, she wouldn’t be able to stop before opening something she wasn’t able to close again, and that scared her. 

“You can tell me anything, you know that,” Harry emphasized with a warm gaze. 

And so she started. 

She told him about her first interaction with Lestrange during the Final Battle. She told him about the pull she had started to feel after that encounter, which also explained, in greater depth, her testimony during his trial. 

And she told him about the almost desperate attempt at visiting Lestrange a week ago and their ensuing conversation. 

She did not tell him about Dolohov. 

After she had finished talking, there was complete silence. She felt both relieved and anxious. She had unloaded a lot of information on Harry, and she fidgeted with her hands while waiting for his reaction. 

When he finally did say something, it felt like it had been far longer than just two minutes. 

“How do you feel about it?” 

“What…what do you mean?” her voice mirrored her puzzlement. 

She hadn’t expected that. A calm Harry, who asked a very sensible question. She had prepared for an accusing or even mad Harry. This was another sign of how mature he had become in the past year. His calm demeanour should have reassured her, made her think about how she was actually feeling, but her emotions were still all over the place, so what she said next just exploded out of her. 

“We’re on opposite sides! How would it work? I mean, why am I even thinking about making it work? You want to know how I feel? I feel pathetic and like I want to pull out my hair! I feel ridiculous! I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?” 

“Well…” Harry didn’t meet her eyes. 

Hermione’s eyes widened. 

“Harry?”

“No, you’re not being ridiculous. But…“ he paused, seemingly mulling over how to say what he was thinking. “I love you, Hermione, but, you can be a bit…let’s call it…er…headstrong? You sometimes just…er…bypass certain…facts that you see as…irrelevant, no!…er…less important, yes; and you plough your way forward despite them.” 

Now, Hermione’s gaze narrowed. Harry swallowed visibly. She drummed her fingers on the table. 

“Is that supposed to be the pretty version of ‘I’m too stubborn to see the importance of other people’s opinions’? Because you suck at pretty.” 

Harry grimaced. 

“Look, I’m not saying he hasn’t done bad things in the past, but maybe what he said during his trial holds more truth than what we know of his actions during the Final Battle. What if he _ has _ changed much earlier than we think? As for being on opposite sides: the war is over, Hermione. I think it’d be wrong to give people like the Malfoys a second chance and not consider that maybe there were other former Death Eaters that regretted their decisions and tried to change, even though they were effectively under the control of a sadistic madman. Plus, as we learned during his trial, Lestrange fought for us and especially for you. I think you should at least give him a chance and get to know him better. He’s alone, maybe all he needs is company.” He eyed her shrewdly. “Maybe you need it, too.”

She wanted to be outraged and yell at him, but she couldn’t deny that he had a point…or several. So she grumbled incoherently before replying, “When did you learn to think about things like a grown-up? I never would have thought you’d be the one to encourage me to go and talk to a Death Eater - former Death Eater. But…what about the ‘soulmate’ stuff?” She emphasized the word with air quotation marks. “Surely you don’t believe that rubbish?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there’s some truth to it.” Seeing her face, Harry hastily raised his hands defensively and continued. “I mean, it’s not that far fetched if you really think about it. Look at the world we live in. Look at the things we didn’t know and probably still don’t about Wizarding culture. Hell, I had part of Voldemort’s soul living inside of me for years. Granted, that’s a bad example, but who’s to say that certain souls couldn’t be connected more than others are? I mean, if there’s someone you’re drawn to so much that it almost hurts, despite awful circumstances and loss and life experiences and society dictating proper behaviour and age differences and certain responsibilities and…what?” He’d looked up during his rambling and paused, seeing the look on her face. 

“Are we still talking about Lestrange?” she asked him with one eyebrow raised. 

“Er…yes?” 

She cocked her head and made a guess. “Is this about Ginny?” 

“Ginny?” He frowned. “Oh, yeah, yes, Ginny.” 

She eyed him closely, but decided not to dig deeper for now. 

“So, you’re saying I should be open to new things in a world of magic…” She huffed annoyed. “That’s basically what Lestrange said.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t think it would hurt to sit down and talk it out with him again. I know you. I bet you’ve already gone through all the books you can find, I’m guessing that’s also the reason why I had to drag you out of your flat this morning.”

She didn’t reply straight away. What could she say? That she had stopped doing research two days ago and just felt a dull ache in her body that she couldn’t really explain, except by referring to one short, very vague passage in a dubious looking book she had found?

As much as she thought it over in her head, Harry was right. She needed answers and Lestrange would probably be the best person to ask. She conveniently ignored the fact that she also felt that desperate longing to see him again. 

“I feel like everything I knew has been turned on its head, and I don’t even know why. It’s not like I believe anything he told me, because I don’t! All the research I’ve done sounds ludicrous and I refuse to believe it.” 

“You know, the symptoms you told me about kind of sound like your body is reacting to Lestrange and maybe even to your own reaction to him.” 

“Harry-“ she started. 

“Bear with me, okay? I know you don’t believe in this soulmate thing, but I kind of do and I can see a connection between all of this. You said it yourself; this pull you experience was almost non-existent right after you visited him, but returned this week, more intensely than before, right?” She nodded reluctantly. “Okay, so it’s safe to say there’s some kind of connection between Lestrange and your reaction to this new information, because it wasn’t this bad before you gained this new knowledge. I mean, it could even be affecting your magic.” 

“Right…” She didn’t even try to hide her disbelief. 

Harry drew in a breath to continue his explanation, but seemed to decide otherwise. Instead, he got up from his chair and approached her slouched position. He offered her his hand and she took it without hesitation, letting him pull her up. 

“You are going to go home, make yourself presentable, gather your wits and courage and then you are going to visit Lestrange again. I think it’s smarter for him to explain this to you than us guessing our way through. Go and Gryffindor-up.” 

“I- Gryffindor…what? What do you mean? I’m perfectly presentable!” 

He raised an eyebrow and she looked down herself. She wanted to retract her statement immediately. She was still in her jogging bottoms and an oversized jumper. She had put on some boots that had passed their prime several years earlier, and she didn’t even want to think about what her hair had done the entire time she had been talking with Harry. She wasn’t an overly vain person, but facing Lestrange required her to feel good and confident. Looking like this, she had the confidence of a flobberworm. All she could feel were her buried insecurities. That had to change. 

“Right. I’m going to go home and change.” She looked at Harry and was flooded by an immense feeling of gratitude towards her best friend. “Harry, I-“ 

“No need to thank me. You know I’m here for you whenever you need me.” 

She refused to cry again. Instead, she just hugged him very tightly and whispered a ‘Thank you’. 

When she pulled back from the hug, she regained control over the water in her eyes and looked at him again. 

“After you’ve had your talk with him, let me know and I’ll come visit you,” he said. 

She nodded. “I will.” 

  
  
  



End file.
